Golden hour ghosts are dancing in the wires.
They glow like little saints with counterfeit desires.
I raise a glass to every year that disappeared.
Golden hour ghosts, still bright around my ears. (Hey!)

The hallway wore a sunset like a jacket from a dream.
I chased it down the staircase, but it vanished from the screen.
A hundred tiny harp notes fell like glitter on the floor.
I stepped on one and suddenly remembered what they were for.

Little lights, little lies.
Still enough to colorize. (Stay gold!)

We used to fear the dark because it swallowed every face.
Now the dark wears glitter and it's strangely out of place.
The old save file is laughing from a pocket in my coat.
I never learned to swim, but somehow learned to float.

Time never asked permission when it painted us with gold.
It only left the fingerprints and called the damage old.

Golden hour ghosts are dancing in the wires.
We turn the scars to sparks and feed them to the fire.
Golden hour ghosts, still bright around my ears.
Golden hour ghosts. (Still here!)